Falling
by SymphonicRedWolf
Summary: Russia disappears after the collapse of his Soviet Union and America has to figure out just what's been going on with the Russian. When he finds Russia has turned to vodka to deal with his problems, he has to try and talk him down without getting severely injured. But he comes with other motives in mind as well... (Rated for alcohol abuse and some of the things Russia thinks/does.)


_**So I was in a bit of a dark place when I wrote this, but I sort of like it... It's sort of my take on how Ivan was feeling as his Union was collapsing; I didn't bother to be incredibly historically accurate, though. I tried to get into Ivan's head as best as I could...  
**_

* * *

Russia sat in the living room of his large house, empty bottles of vodka littering the table. The blinds were drawn, preventing any trace of the sunny day from crossing into the house. Sunlight was the last thing he wanted to see right now. He did not care about the state of the once spotless house anymore. Who could be bothered with trying to keep something clean when there was no one left who made it worthwhile? Russia just wanted to drink and drink until he couldn't remember anymore. Or he passed out. Whichever came first, he didn't really care.

Looking sadly around the now dark and empty house, he tried to keep his thoughts away from how it used to be. This house used to be so full of life and memories of him and his sisters, of Toris and the Baltics… The large nation shook his head, trying to will the thoughts away. Cursing the fact that the vodka had not yet done its job, he took another swig. Maybe it was his status as a nation that kept his tolerance so high or maybe it was his incredible size. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was Russian. Chuckling darkly, he took another large gulp, taking pleasure in the dull burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat.

_Maybe this is my punishment, da? I do not care anymore. Just make it stop…_

"I am tired of feeling," he said to nobody in particular, staring down at the bottle with lifeless violet eyes. What good were feelings anyway? They crept up on you from out of nowhere, their only purpose to confuse and cause people to act irrationally. People were much better off without them. He downed the rest of the bottle with a sigh, the room finally starting to spin ever so slightly. The bottle fell to the floor with a reverberating _thunk_, filling the house with the only other sound aside from the large nation's slow breaths. Russia had stopped counting the bottles after the second or third—no, it was definitely the fourth—one.

There was a sad, but somehow still funny irony to it all, Russia noticed in his hazy state, giggling softly. The last time this had happened, Toris had somehow managed to calm the large nation down in his anger and even bring him to his room. It never ceased to surprise Russia to wake up in his room after a night lost to the bottle. But now there was nobody here to do that, so what did it matter how much he drank or what he took his anger out on?

Why did this have to happen? All he wanted to do was help everybody else; why could they not just see that? He took them all in and let them live with him and this was how they repaid him! No one ever appreciated anything he tried to do for them. And they would always shy away whenever he tried to do something for them. Toris and the Baltics especially. They would always shake and tremble whenever the mention of his name came up. Even trying to just be friends with them was a hassle; it was hard to talk to someone who only feared you, even when you didn't think you were giving them any reason to. But they would only respond to fear and threats! What else could he do? Everybody was all too happy to get out of there, to capitalize on his moment of weakness, not stopping for even a second to think about how Russia would feel about that.

Russia shook his head, reaching clumsily for another bottle as the aura in the room grew darker. Forget them; who needed a bunch of ungrateful nations? He was better off alone. Always had been. At first, he hated being alone; he tried desperately to make friends with everybody, but who wanted to be friends with such a tiny, weak nation? So he tried to grow stronger, hoping that when he was big and strong and able to protect himself and others, they would come around, but his newfound power only caused them to fear him.

And then there was America... Violet eyes narrowed darkly, staring off into the distance. Everything was his fault... The young nation, driven by that hero complex of his, was always butting into other nations' affairs. As long as he got his way, what did it matter what means he took to get there? Russia was simply tired of it. Who was he to think he could police the world? He was nothing more than a child! A child with more power than he knew how to handle. His gloved hand found its way to the neck of the bottle, closing tightly around it as if to strangle it.

If only that could have been America's neck, Russia mused, giggling again. Yes, the thought of the young nation squirming in his grasp, fighting desperately to fill his lungs with oxygen as the light faded from those bright blue eyes was all too pleasurable. He could plead and bargain and threaten and try and talk his way out of it all he wanted, but there would be no help for him. America deserved that and a whole lot worse.

Nations couldn't die from such simple means, though, Russia knew, smiling as he lifted the bottle into the air. That just made the thought so much sweeter. It might take a few days for the young nation to wake up again, but that didn't bother him much. He would have all the time in the world to wait. The hardest part would be figuring out what to do to him first. He could beat on him a little more; take out all his anger on the helpless nation. America wouldn't be able to fight back; Russia would be nothing more than a flash of white scarf and metal as his trusty pipe collided against his body with the satisfying crunch of bone, the beautiful red colour of his blood coating him, the walls, his pipe...

After America's pained screams filled the room, he would wait until the blond blacked out again before locking him up in a dark room, never to see the light of day again. Oh yes, America would crack under the lack of the freedom he held so dear. Perhaps he could even keep him as a pet! He would need to be retrained, of course, but that wouldn't be too hard, Russia figured, his giggles turning into full out laughter as he smashed the bottle against the wall, savouring the sound of the shattering glass. Broken shards buried themselves in the Russian's hair and scarf, going unnoticed as he continued to laugh, consumed by his thoughts of a broken America.

* * *

America stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking down the streets of Moscow. As much as he didn't want to be here, he figured something was going on. And as the hero, it was obviously his job to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant traveling to enemy territory. He also thought it would be a good chance to rub his victory in the commie's face if nothing else. Really, though, was there ever any chance of him succeeding? Democracy was clearly the top choice, America mused, looking around.

Pausing at the end of one of the streets to look around, he started wondering if coming here was even a good idea in the first place. The two of them had just recently gotten out of a decades' long war. Russia was the last person he wanted to see right now, and he was positive the feeling was mutual. But something wasn't right. Russia had seemingly disappeared since the Union collapsed. None of the other nations had much contact with him and he refused to show up to any meetings. The last time America remembered seeing Russia, his eyes seemed dull and lifeless and he looked tired, as if just being there was a struggle for him. The large nation simply brushed past him on his way out, not even registering the remark or, well, anything that was thrown at him.

...Not that he cared about what happened to that damn commie. But none of the others would care enough to go check on him, so who else to do it but the hero? As much as he hated to admit it, it would be a big problem if Russia suddenly disappeared. Trying his best to finally convince himself of that was what landed him on a plane and now standing on the corner of Russian Street 1 and Russian Street 2.

America wasn't lost. He had been to Russia's house a few times before this, taking care to memorize the way. But in light of recent events, it had been quite a while since he himself had visited Russia; his memory was a little fuzzy. Obviously the street signs weren't going to be any help. Why couldn't they just be in English, he wondered, glaring at the sign. It was clearly the superior language and much easier to read. Like, what good was a letter that kind of looked like a...spider, definitely a spider...to anybody? Did people even like spiders that much? How did you even say that weird shape? America found it difficult to think of it as a letter. Russians were just weird was the best answer he could think of, smiling to himself. Yes, that was definitely it.

America shook himself out of the tangent, going back to looking at his surroundings. He was here for a reason, he had to remind himself as he crossed the street, remembering where he had to go from here. America could spend the rest of the week on that corner, mumbling to himself about how weird Russians and the Russian language were, but he was on a mission! Letting himself go off on tangents so easily was not the heroic thing to do, especially when the fate of the world could be resting on his hands.

Thankfully, his body seemed to move on its own, letting the American revel in his thoughts for a bit longer. Just where had Russia gone off to? America huffed, kicking a rock on the road and sending it flying down the street. Honestly, if this was all part of some big game, there would be nothing to stop the blond from unleashing his anger on the large man. Surprisingly, that was the last thing the American was in the mood for right now. A game of this calibre going on for this long was just taking it too far, even by his standards. This was entirely different from their back-and-forth war games; those were mutual, but this, this was something else entirely.

But what if something really did happen to Russia…? Maybe he was sick. His entire government had just essentially collapsed on itself; he must be feeling it. His people were probably really confused, too. W-what if he was dying? America wondered, turning onto the block where Russia's house was supposed to be. That would be a good thing! ...Right? As much as they hated each other, did he really deserve to die? America was torn. Part of him wanted to say "Hell yes!" and the other part adamantly denied it. If it came down to it, did the American really have it in to help him or would he let him suffer for everything that he had done?

America paused, staring at the house at the end of the walkway as a chill ran down his spine. The big two-story house appeared the same on the outside as it always did; there were no holes in the white siding or broken windows. The yard was not trashed and as far as America could tell, nobody was lying somewhere on the property, possibly bleeding to death. All good signs, but that did nothing to alleviate the feeling that something here was very wrong.

He took a tentative step forward. The others had always said he was no good at reading the atmosphere or something like that, but even he noticed the dark, ominous aura surrounding the house. It was quiet. Too quiet. This was the part of the movie where the villain would jump at you when you were least expecting it! All that was missing was the creepy music in the background. But America was prepared. He had seen enough movies to know all the tricks and would be damned if he let Russia scare him.

That was when he finally noticed it. There was no way to see into the house. Every single window had the blinds drawn, preventing any passersby or perhaps even spy from seeing into the house. The small window on the door was even covered. America frowned. Russia liked his privacy as much as the next person, but this was too dark, even for him. Sunlight was one of the large nation's favourite things, so for him to shut it out completely...

America shivered again. Now he knew something was not right. If he did not know any better, he would say the house was abandoned, or that no one was home, but there was something way too ominous about the situation. Russia hardly ever closed his blinds.

His hand hovered over the silver doorknob, trembling slightly. Not knowing what would be waiting for him on the other side was a bit unnerving, to say the least. This could all be a well-thought out trap that he could be walking into. America wouldn't put that past him; the usually childish nation could be quite devious and cunning when he wanted to be. But then again, so could he…

No, no, there was no way he was _anything _like that commie! He was the good guy, the one that everyone loved, the one on the side of justice. The other was the exact opposite. They were night and day compared to each other. Cats and dogs, fire and ice...

_Come on, America. What are you waiting for?_

America turned his focus to the sturdy door in front of him, trying to work up the courage to actually knock on it. How would he play this off if Russia actually answered? No way would he settle for looking like he could possibly care about his well-being, so maybe he could just say that he came to rub it in his face and see how the progression into democracy was coming along. He half-smiled. That was perfect. There was to be no mention about how much of a sorry state the other seemed to be in.

Before he could actually bring his hand up to knock on the door, he froze, hearing a series of giggles from inside. America blinked. _Just what the hell was that…? _Damn the Russian for covering all the windows! It seemed the only way to do this was to push his ear against the door and listen for whatever he could. He felt like he was a kid again, listening at the door of England's study when he would lock himself in for one of his lengthy phone calls. As long as nobody passed by, he should be fine. An American in Russia with his ear against a door had to look more than just suspicious.

Another chill ran down America's spine as the giggling got louder, and though he would never admit it, the Russian's crazed laughter was actually scaring him. He jumped at least two feet in the air as the loud sound of something shattering echoed throughout the building. The laughter didn't stop. Instead he heard shouting—he assumed it was in Russian because he couldn't understand a thing—and more laughter.

That was not the laugh of a sane person. Russia was still in the house, and the American could clearly hear the large nation's descent into madness. That was all he needed to be sure this was not just some game.

Resolve hardened by the sound, America tightened his grip around the handle and pushed his weight against the door which splintered and broke easily under his strength, granting the blond entry.

"Russia!" America shouted as the door fell to the floor beside him. He blinked as it slammed against the ground, chuckling nervously. Oops. That wasn't supposed to happen. Hopefully the Russian wouldn't be too mad about that... America shook his head; he could deal with that later. "Russia, where are—"

The American paused, the sight before him finally registering in his eyes. The whole house was nearly pitch black even though it was the middle of the day. How could he see anything in here? The sunlight streaming in through the door was the only source of light, bringing colour back to the dull living room. Something glinted in the corner of the room, throwing the sunlight back at him; America had to squint to make out what it was.

It was a bottle of alcohol... America looked around, shocked, noticing exactly how many of them were strewn across the room. Was this all the large nation was doing this whole time? Just how long had it been since he stepped foot outside? There was nothing good about this situation. If Russia was drunk, it might take more than just America to stop him.

America shook slightly at the thought, blaming it on the icy breeze blowing in from outside. He did not like this one bit. The air in the room was dark and heavy and he didn't like the feeling of uncertainty creeping up on him. Russia was already just as strong as he was, but if he had been drinking for who knows how long... Lithuania had told him tales of what happened a few times Russia got drunk. Those stories were never pretty.

The aura in the room seemed to grow darker and darker with each passing second, and America was starting to feel like he was choking. It would be so easy to just run and get back on a plane to America without bothering to look back or worry about his safety. No. No, he had to do this. He promised himself and the others that he would figure out what was going on and no way in hell would he show fear to the Russian. That was so _not _heroic.

America balled his fists, steeling his nerves as he took another step into the house. The scent of vodka hung in the air, strong enough to make the blond's head reel. Was it possible to get drunk off of just the scent of alcohol? America narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore it. That Russian was going to pay for disappearing just to drink...! "Russia, damn it, where are you? This isn't funny anymore!"

Said nation tried to focus clouded violet eyes toward the voice, laughter turning into a deep growl as he shielded his eyes from the bright light. Who dared disturb him? Who knew to look for him here? This person was going to pay dearly for their disturbance, be they human or nation; either way it made no difference.

"Кто там?" Russia snarled, narrowing his eyes. "Show yourself to me!"

America flinched, looking around until he met the pair of violet orbs. "I..." he started, unsure of what to say next. Was that really Russia? He stared at the man, having a hard time believing this was the same nation that had been at his throat for the past few decades. His violet eyes were unfocused and cloudy, leaving America wondering if he could even see him. The once proud nation just looked so...defeated.

"Answer me!" the silver haired man roared, taking a step forward. Russia faltered, throwing a hand up to the wall to steady himself.

"It's America," he answered, setting his jaw. The young nation braced himself for whatever the unstable man before him could throw at him.

"America...?" Russia threw his head back and laughed that same insane laugh he had heard through the door. No amount of preparation could have prepared anyone for that, America reassured himself as he fought back the urge to flee from the Russian. After laughing for a minute or so, Russia quieted, throwing an icy glare at the American. "Why are you here? Have you not done enough already?" Each word dripped with ice and hatred.

Russia fumbled as he tried to reach for another bottle on the table, growling curses when he couldn't find one. Everything was spinning so fast now; Russia was losing his bearings. He threw a gloved hand out to the wall to steady himself, violet eyes narrowing dangerously as he finally closed his hand around the neck of a bottle, lifting it up. This one was full; he could tell by the weight. An evil smirk spread out on his face and America flinched.

_This isn't worth it; Russia looks terrifying. I should just… No. No, I came this far, I'm not backing down now. _

"You know why I'm here," he said, keeping his voice firm. America narrowed his eyes, carefully watching every little movement the Russian made. He didn't dare take his eyes off him for a second.

"To rub it in!" he snarled, tightening his grip on the bottle so hard it was a wonder it hadn't shattered. "You have gotten exactly what you wanted and now you are here to laugh at a fallen nation!" Violet eyes swirled with rage. "Well you are going to pay dearly, Америка."

America raced forward, grabbing the Russian by the shoulders and digging his fingers in. "Russia, enough! Stop!" Russia growled at the proximity, trying to shove him away with his free hand. Every effort he made to get America off him resulted in the American grabbing him tighter and tighter. He had forgotten just how strong he could be behind that childish demeanour. "You've got it all backwards!"

"_Backwards,_" he snarled, laughing. "You are one to speak of backwards, you irritating fool! How I want to see you suffer for everything, crying and begging like the little child you are. You are going to beg me for mercy, on your knees, but there will be nothing that can save you as I destroy your body and your spirit."

America grit his teeth, shaking the Russian hard, as if that would bring him back to his senses. Russia's back hit the wall hard a few times, but he barely noticed. "Ivan, please," America tried, desperately trying to get him to listen. "I…I came here to help you…"

There was a loud crack and America's cry echoed throughout the room. Russia brought the vodka bottle down on America's head as hard as he could, growling Russian curses. The blond faltered from the sheer strength of the hit—it seemed Lithuania's stories rang true after all—and he saw white for several moments. He was covered in vodka now, he realised, the strong scent clinging to his clothes and his hair, burning his nose and eyes. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his scalp as warm blood trickled down his forehead, dying his blond locks a crimson red. He winced, taking deep breaths as his head throbbed. Yet somehow, he managed to keep his hold on Russia the entire time.

"_Never _call me by my human name," he said slowly, each word dripping with hatred. "You have no right to call me Ivan!" America locked eyes with Russia, the latter looking much more tired after that attack. America wasn't looking too hot after the blow either; the light in his eyes faded slightly, replaced by a tired haze. The overbearing scent of the vodka coating him wasn't doing him any favours, making him feel more lightheaded and dizzy than he already was.

"I-Ivan…" America tried again, not caring if the use of his human name would get him another swift blow to the head. If it got Russia's attention, that was all that mattered. "I'm…I'm here not just as America, but as Alfred. I want to help you. I know you hate me and you have every right to. I hated you too, but that doesn't mean I want to see you like this… The war is over now; I want to be your friend." He squeezed the Russian's shoulders lightly to emphasize his point.

Russia was furious. After all the tensions, the fear, the spying, the near nuclear warfare, the utter _hatred,_ America had the audacity to come to his home and lie to him like that? He wouldn't have it. In a movement so fast and precise that it was hard to believe it had come from someone as drunk as he was, he closed his hand around America's throat, squeezing tightly. The blond gave a surprised yelp as he tried pulling the gloved hand from his airway, trying fruitlessly to will air into his lungs.

"What did I just say?" Russia roared, lifting America off his feet. "How dare you come here and tell me such lies!"

"P-Please…" he squeaked out, kicking his legs and struggling to break free. The words burned his throat, the loss of precious oxygen a more painful experience than he thought. But he couldn't stop, not now. "M'not… J-Just listen…"

Suddenly Alfred hit the ground hard, eyes widening when he realised he could breathe again. He sat there, coughing and gasping for air, greedily filling his lungs before Russia decided to deprive him of it again. Rivulets of blood ran down his face, dripping from his chin and staining the floor. Russia's piercing violet eyes were staring down at him, unblinking. The pipe was in his hand, held in an attack position and America knew he was just itching to use it.

"Fine, _Alfred,_" he began, using his human name mockingly. "Talk. You have one minute before I knock you senseless."

He stood shakily to meet Russia, keeping their eyes locked. "I know you hate me for the dissolution of your Union. For everybody leaving you. And I know you're tired and confused and feeling alone. And we hated each other, but I never… I never hated _you. _I hated what you did, what you stood for, your bosses, but never you, Ivan." America didn't take his eyes away from Russia even as he felt a light blush dusting his cheeks. He couldn't believe he was saying this, but it needed to be said. "And things are changing now. I'd like to help you, if you'd let me. You don't have to be alone…" He held his hand out to the Russian, smiling a little.

"Let's move forward, Ivan. I want to be your friend."

Russia just stared at the outstretched hand in silence, the silver pipe twitching dangerously in his hand. There was no telling how he would react to this; America hoped he would take his hand and agree, but he had the sinking feeling he would be learning just how hard Russia could hit with that thing. America watched him quietly, never pulling his hand back.

The pipe moved towards him and America tensed, shutting his eyes. If it was coming, he didn't want to see it. He tried. He tried as hard as he could, but if Russia wasn't willing…

The pipe clattered against the floor and America slowly opened his eyes, staring at Russia in surprise. The latter said nothing for a moment as the pipe came to a stop, plunging the house into an awkward silence that was only interrupted by sudden laughter. "You want to be friends, Alfred? Why should I believe a word you say?"

"Because it's true! I came all the way here, Ivan! Because we were wondering where you disappeared to! I was worried you…"

Violet eyes widened. "Finish that thought."

America started to pull his hand back, jumping a bit when Russia suddenly grabbed his wrist to stop him. "I…I thought you might have been dying or something. And I thought about it, whether I would save you or just let you suffer, and I realised that…that I would end up saving you. I tried to say it was just for the benefit of the world overall, but I think my reasons may have been a little more selfish than that."

"A-Alfred…" Now it was Russia's turn to be speechless. He looked desperately for any sign that the blond was lying, that this was all a ruse to catch him off-guard, but he had never seen him look so sincere before. "If you mean it… Let us be friends…"

America looked utterly surprised when Russia took his hand. "Ivan? You mean it?"

Russia sighed heavily. "Da." He started to sway slightly as the adrenaline wore off and America put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It is time to put the past to rest and move forward for my people… I want to hate you. I should be continuing to hate you, but I cannot. The dissolution of my Union was not entirely your fault; it was largely mine as well. But blaming you makes it so much easier. My choices, the choices of my bosses and my people… Everything was a contributing factor. I realised that I was headed down a destructive path not long ago, that there was no foreseeable way out of it… With them I had a family, but now they are gone and I know it is over…"

"I'll help you however I can, Ivan. If you want someone to hang out with and watch movies or go to dinner or just talk to… Or even with the political stuff. I know my boss wants to be on good terms too. I know it'll be hard, but we can trust each other… Our Cold War is over and this will be a new beginning for both of us…"

Russia smiled a little, but it was one of his rare, genuine smiles. "Then let us move past this together and enter an age of friendship… One where we no longer have to fear each other."

America nodded, smiling widely. "I'd like that. To the future."

"To the future," Russia agreed, and the two shook on it. "And Alfred…?"

"Yeah?"

"I am sorry."

* * *

_**The ending sort of ties into the relationship that George H. W. Bush and Gorbachev formed after the dissolution of the Soviet Union to create a partnership for their countries, which you could say marked the official end of the Cold War.  
**_


End file.
